


When All Is Said and Done

by Arsenic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: When Nightwing and Batman are taken captive by the Joker, Damian goes to a sometimes-ally for help.





	When All Is Said and Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaydickery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydickery/gifts).



> Huge thanks to carbonjen for the canon-beta and ihearttwojacks for SPAG and flow. Story was made much better by both of them, and anything remaining that sucks is likely because I ignored their wisdom.
> 
> Another big thank you to carbonjen and pentapoda for running the exchange, I was so excited to be a part of this! And recip, I could hug you to pieces for this prompt, I hope you have at LEAST half as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Devil Spawn lands next to Jason on the roof where he’s mostly just keeping a lazy eye on the sex workers in his territory. It's been a quiet night and he's got nothing better to do than make sure everyone is staying professional. As always, when it comes to dealing with Damian, Jason feels the headache coming before the kid even opens his mouth. Jason greets him, "Do Snap and Pop know you're missing, Crackle?"

When Damian doesn't rise to the bait, instead just saying, "Snap and Pop are the ones missing," Jason knows they're in deep shit.

He looks over at Damian. "What happened?"

Damian shakes his head. "Not sure, I was with the Titans, and Drake—Drake was left on the front step, stabbed, barely breathing, and with a note that said, 'tell my favorite, he's always welcome to join the party.'"

"Fucknuggets." 

Damian doesn't have to tell him anything else, not what the note looked like, not if Tim had any other evidence on him. There is literally only one party Jason is always invited to. And he's nobody's favorite but the Joker's.

*

Dick wakes with his arms above his head. His fingers are being held apart from each other, almost to breaking, by what feels like rope. In any case, he's not slipping the manacles by dislocating a thumb. His legs are also spread to what would be an uncomfortable degree in a normal person, held by manacles that match the ones at his wrists. Dick's very grateful to be flexible as all get out.

He's not grateful, even just a little bit, that Bruce seems to be strapped to a wall by roughly twenty pieces of steel. It's like a cage made just for Batman. It might be. This _is_ the Joker.

Worse, Tim's not there. Dick purposely puts what that might mean out of his mind. He needs to focus.

Bruce is coming to. From the moment his eyes open, Dick can see that something's not quite right. Joker must be watching them from somewhere, because he chooses that moment to saunter in, to say, "This is a lesson, Batsy, but lessons don't always seem to take with you, so I thought the help of some of Crane's better inventions might just help you where you're slow."

It's then that Dick sees the crowbar in the Joker's hand and _gets it._ Joker strolls over to Dick, saying, "He was smaller, of course, my favorite Robin, more delicate, but you will do, I suppose. That one's hard to catch with Bats these days, I do wonder why…"

Dick doesn't respond. Bruce is going to freak out any second now, and one of them needs to be clear-headed. The Joker caresses Dick's jaw with the crowbar and Dick stays still, like a mouse in the sights of a snake. It's to him that Joker says, "I started with his kidneys. So easy to hurt, makes it hard to fight back, you know?"

He laughs then, draws back and lands a hit straight to Dick's left kidney. The pain is white-out intense, but nothing Dick hasn't had before. He limits his noise to a grunt. Bruce is screaming. Dick knows it's taking everything he has to fight the serum and not babble about Jason and Dick and his _sons_ , (Dick has used the same trick before) but hearing his father screaming is still hard to take, impossible to simply filter as background noise. 

He works not to tense, knowing the next hit is coming to the right. Through sheer force of will, he manages. It still hurts. When the Joker starts talking about the bird-like bones of a Robin, Dick slips away into that place he finds when he's springing through the air between zip lines, at the apex of a flip.

The crunch of the crowbar practically tearing his left arm in two almost breaks his trance. Almost. Dick is a professional, by night and by day. His body is available to be broken, but he will be damned if he allows the Joker any part of his mind.

He just has to keep breathing. The thought corresponds with a hit to his lungs, another, and all his focus has to be thrust into the count of inhalation, exhalation, again, again. It forces him out of his safe space, back to where the Joker is _still_ fucking talking, and Jesus, how has Dick not noticed that the guy never fucking shuts up?

He's talking about Jay, _baby_ Jay, who'd hustled and squeezed three whole years of non-misery out of the universe before he'd been killed. 

"He begged for her life, you know?" The Joker laughs, maniacal and pleased. " _Her_ life. Bloody little lips dripping bloody little drips." Another hit, this one to the torso.

Inhale, exhale. It hurts, it hurts, it _fucking_ hurts.

"He crawled too. Shame I can't let you. He was fun to step on." A blow to the back of the knees.

Bruce is still screaming, the screams sounding torn and raw. Inhale, exhale.

"Weak little—"

At first, Dick can't place the loud sound that cuts off the Joker's monologue. Then the newly-made hole between his eyes spills red down his face and he crumples. And Dick thinks, _inhale, exhale._

Dick thinks, _good._

*

Jason knows what's happening the second he lays eyes on the crowbar, and the only thought he has is, "No." What was done with Jason was done, and could not be undone, but Jason would be damned a thousand, million times over before he allowed it to happen to any of the other Bats, but especially not Dick. Dick who will say and do the most ridiculous things just to make Jason laugh, who still has stuffed animals hidden in his living spaces, who has the worst taste in music and no shame about that. Dick with whom Jason is completely in--

He’s not letting the Joker ruin Dick. That’s all there is to it. And maybe if he weren’t Jason Todd, if he were Dick or Bruce or Tim or Cass, maybe he would see another way to stop this, to end this moment without killing. But he _is_ Jason Todd.

He can’t say for sure if it’s instinct or emotion or the pure muscle memory of having been trained over and over as an assassin--maybe some combination thereof--but he barely feels himself raise the gun and shoot. He’s almost surprised when the bullet hits its intended target, by the flash of shock in Joker’s expression before his face goes blank, dead. Almost, except he’s well aware he’s never missed when it has truly mattered, and Jason doesn’t believe there’s been a time when precision has been more important. 

Later, he'll regret that he didn't get to take his time, that Bruce and Dick and Damian had to see it, that the Joker probably didn't even compute who fired the bullet. But in the moment, none of that matters. Dick and Bruce matter.

He's heading toward Dick without even feeling his muscles respond to any command. He barks, "Robin, get Batman detoxed and to the cave."

Damian says, "Hood—" his face mutinous.

Jason snaps, "Don't. Not right now. Whatever it is, don't. Take care of Batman."

Jason doesn't really expect it to work, the little shit is nothing if not incapable of listening to others, but after a second Damian starts toward Bruce, and for the moment, that's all Jason needs. He turns back to Dick and looks at the restraints. It takes all of a nanosecond to know he might be able to pick all of them, but it will take way, way too long.

Instead, he goes over and searches the Joker's body, carefully keeping his mind blank of anything—regret, triumph, relief. He'll have time for emotions later, when Dick isn't probably dying of internal bleeding right in front of him.

He finds the keys, and it's still the work of a few minutes to get everything unlocked, the ropes unknotted and unwound, and Dick carefully lowered. The entire time Dick is wheezing and coughing, swallowing back sobs. Jason wants badly to have had more time with the Joker, to have mirrored every single pain, minor or major, he’s inflicted on Dick, to have said, “My turn, asswipe.” So badly.

Doesn't matter. He says, "Okay Nightwing, deep breath," and scoops Dick into a bridal carry. It's immediately evident how far gone Dick really is when he doesn't even try to make a threshold joke.

He says, "O, you still with me?"

"Right here, Hood," Babs says, her voice a little too-even.

"Need you to tell the doc she's got incoming."

"Yup, and then I’ll clear the streets for you."

Jason owes Babs some new tech. And one of those smoothies she really likes.

*

Even with Dick's largely dead-weight strapped to him on the bike, Jason makes it to the clinic a solid ten minutes faster than he should. He's doing his best not to panic, but he _knows_ Dick's injuries, intimately, remembers the moments before the explosion, when he knew he was already dead from the damage inflicted. And sure, yes, logically Jason understands he was younger, and still suffering long-term effects of early-childhood and adolescence malnutrition, and for all these reasons, Dick has a much better chance of surviving and healing.

He also knows he's not going to be rational about this, so he's not even going to try. Instead, he runs Dick into Leslie's clinic at breakneck speed, setting him down in the first open exam room with infinite gentleness. Dick says, "Jay—" and starts coughing. 

"Shut up," Jason says without any rancor. "Just. Your lung is punctured. Stop talking."

Of course, Dick has literally never listened to Jason in their entire lives—parts one and two in Jason's case—so he says, "Sorry. Sorry."

Jason does the only thing he can think of to get Dick to _stop fucking talking_ and leans over to kiss him. "Sh, quiet, nothing to be sorry for."

Leslie comes in as he's saying this and Jason says, "He's gonna be bleeding internally in his lungs, kidneys, and possibly the lower intestine."

She focuses on Jason for a mere tenth of a second, with eyes that are grave, before giving a quick nod and squeezing Dick's hand. "We'll get you fixed up, trouble."

It eases something in Jason's chest, the way she says it with such surety. Oh, he knows it's part of her course of treatment, that _she_ knows if the patient thinks she's certain of their survival, the patient is, in turn, more likely to survive. All the same, it works.

She slips an IV port into the back of Dick's hand and plugs in a drip. Turning, she hustles Jason out and into the waiting room, pushing him down into a chair. She kisses his forehead and says, "Drink some water, kid."

Then she's gone, and Jason can't move, can't do anything other than sit there and breathe, reminding himself with each inhale that he _can_ breathe. He can.

Gorgeous art by [JJMK](https://jjmk-jjmk.tumblr.com/)

*

Bruce shows up three hours later with Damian and Tim in tow. Tim looks apt to fall over any second, but it's Dick in surgery, so Jason's not really surprised. He wants to be pissed, wants to mount an offensive on whatever judgmental bullshit's about to flow his way, but he's tired and scared, so all he does is turn his back to them and pretend they don't exist.

Weirdly, none of them sees fit to disabuse him of the notion, at least for about half an hour. Then Bruce comes and sits in his line of vision. Jason has one thing to say about that, "Nope."

"Jay—"

"No, no, nope. Unless you're about to tell me how I should have done it fucking _slower_ , you don't get to talk."

"Jason!" Bruce barks, and as much as he hates it, it's enough to get Jason to listen. Bruce pulls him into his chest, and, for a moment, Jason has the absurd thought that Bruce is going to kill _him_ by way of asphyxiation. Then Jason relaxes into the hug, and Bruce holds tighter, but it feels good. Safe.

Eventually, Bruce backs up and says, "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. I should have been there, I should have—"

It occurs to Jason that Bruce is talking about all those years ago, about the Joker getting to Jason, and he finds himself shaking his head. "B, just—it's over. It's over."

Jason has a feeling he's going to be turning that realization over in his head a lot in the following weeks. Months.

Bruce says, "I don't—we don't agree about this. About what you did."

"Yeah, no shit," Jason says, feeling like his bones could crumble into dust from sheer weariness.

"But I love you."

Jason blinks at that. Bruce has the grace to appear rueful. He clears his throat and says, "Dick has maybe once or twice pointed out to me that I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want for you. So much time that I can forget to notice I did a pretty good job, all things being equal."

"You tell him I said this and it's back to World War III, but Dick occasionally makes a worthwhile point. Now and then."

They share the look of two people who have known one Richard Grayson for an extended period of time. When Jason breaks the moment, he notices Tim has fallen asleep sitting up, and Damian is doing a terrible job of pretending not to hope this means he can somehow be Good Enough for Bruce at some point. Jason makes a mental note to sic Dick on Damian as soon as the former can stand on his own.

Because Dick's going to be fine. He is fucking going to be fucking fine, if Jason has to argue with St. Fucking Peter himself. That's all there is to it.

*

Dick's at the Manor when he swims his way free of the sedatives. He knows the feel of the bed in the rooms Bruce keeps for him, knows that particular classy shade of ivory on the walls, the warmth from the oversized window. He turns his head to the side, in part to see if moving hurts. It does, everything does, and he can't help biting back a moan.

Something—someone—shifts in the bed next to him, and then Jason is leaning over him, saying, "Hey, don't move, Leslie will kill all of us if you fuck up over eleven straight hours of surgery."

Even as he's talking, Jason is pressing a wet sponge to Dick's lips, gently permeating his mouth with water, but not making it so Dick'll choke. Jason's got circles the size of dinner plates around his eyes, probably from having waited through those eleven hours, and he's in bed with Dick at the Manor, which means he's breaking his own rule about not being in Bruce's house unless it's the best way to get under his skin at the moment. 

"Jay," Dick says, and even that hurts.

"Sh," Jason says. "I've got you. Tim's okay, Bruce is okay, everyone is okay and will be as long as you don't fuck anything up and work on getting better."

Dick wants to be witty, wants to snap off, _all I had to do to get you in bed with me is get a little beaten up?_ , but the thought of trying to say that many words at once is exhausting, his lungs screaming just at the act of shallow breathing. And Jason looks wrecked in so many ways, Dick isn't even sure he'd hear the humor just now.

Instead he asks, "You—you stay?"

Jason's smile is sudden and unaccountably fond. Dick knows things have been better between them for a while now, and he thinks he remembers Jason kissing him, quick and forceful, in the moment before Dick had gone under. But Jason has always held them all at arm's length, treated them as something he reluctantly accepts he is a part of, but isn't going to put unnecessary time or energy into supporting. Jason skritches a little at Dick's head and it feels so good, just that simple contact in a place where he's not hurting. Jason nods. "Yeah, I'm here, Dickie. I'll be here."

Dick really doesn't want to take his eyes off of Jason. It's not that he doesn't trust him to keep his word, it's that he rarely gets time with him, and he doesn't want to waste it now. But Jason lies down beside him and says, "C'mon, I'll nap if you will," and Jason clearly needs the sleep. Dick closes his eyes, and that's really all it takes.

*

The next time Dick comes to, Jason is sleeping deeply, and Bruce is sitting on the side of the bed, watching Jason. Dick sighs mentally, glad that he seems to be on less drugs. Things are even more painful, but he's also able to think more clearly, and he needs that in this moment. His memories of that night are jumbled, mixed and shaken in the way trauma will fracture just about any type of recall, but he remembers the gunshot. He remembers the lightning quick transition from alive to dead that had come over the Joker's face. 

Jason is here, which suggests they haven't fought about it, but not having fought about it and having resolved the situation are two entirely different states of existence. Wanting to be head of the eight ball in this instance, he asks, "Do you believe Battered Women's Syndrome is a real thing?"

Bruce startles almost imperceptibly, but it's there. He redirects his attention to Dick and says, "Yes, of course, don't be ridiculous."

"So it is eminently reasonable to you that a woman who kills her husband, despite not being under threat of death at the time, can be considered not guilty of murder by way of self-defense because she unquestionably believes her life is, in fact, in danger, if not then, then at some unknown point in the future, with absolute certainty?"

"Dick—"

"No, just answer."

"Yes, that is viable."

"Then why the hell can't you extend the same compassion you would to some random woman to your own damn son?"

Bruce swallows and goes back to watching Jason. Dick says, "I need you to let this go."

There's a moment when Dick thinks Bruce is just going to ignore him, and then Bruce says, "All right."

Dick opens his mouth, pauses, and then says, "That was easier than it should have been."

"If I forced you to choose," Bruce starts, "would you go with him?"

Dick thinks it would kill something important in him, but, "Yes. Because he would need me in a way you wouldn't. And because I'm not positive you're right, not in this. There are no absolutes, as much as I know you and I would like there to be."

Bruce smiles. It's fractured and painful to look at. "Admitting I'm wrong isn't one of my more stellar qualities, as you know. But in my more honest moments, I have always known which one of us had the better moral compass, Dick."

Dick blinks at that, and Bruce's smile relaxes a minute bit into something more real. He leans over and kisses Dick's forehead. Dick says, "Love you, dad," in the middle of a yawn.

Bruce squeezes his shoulder and says, "Yeah, kid. Love you, too."

*

Jason's re-reading _Huckleberry Finn_ when Dick starts getting agitated. He sets it face down and says, "Hey, dickface," softly.

It's not enough to jolt Dick out of whatever's got him in its grip. Jason rubs at his face. "Dick," he says more loudly. The third time, when he's getting close to shouting, is what brings Dick up, panting and struggling against his IVs and bandages. Jason restrains him just enough that he won't do himself accidental harm, saying, "Hey, hey, c'mon."

Dick stills and says, "Jay. Jaybird."

"Yeah, it's me, you big dolt."

Dick's breath comes out like a sob, and Jason says, "Okay," and carefully rearranges things so he can hold Dick. "I've got you."

Dick buries a hand in Jason's shirt. "He had you. I dreamed—"

"Yeah, just a dream, that's all it was." Jason runs a hand up and down the length of Dick's arm. "I'm sorry I didn't get there earlier, but it's over. It's really, really over." Jason ignores the way his own voice trips and wobbles as he says it, ignores the way he's telling himself as much as he is Dick.

"I didn't get there at all when it mattered, did I? Nobody did." Dick's voice is so soft it's almost hard to hear, but Jason is listening.

He isn't entirely sure what to say. It's the truth, but, "You're here now. That's—that's important to me."

Dick's unburrows from Jason enough at this point to be facing Jason, Dick's eyes flickering over Jason's face, as if looking for something. Then he says, "I want to kiss you, but I'm afraid you'll think it's the drugs."

"Is it?" Jason asks.

"Only if I've been running around high as balls for the better part of a year."

Jason snickers. "You know they pretty much all think that about us Bats."

"Jay. You—you kissed me. At the clinic. And I thought 'I will be pissed as all get out if I don't get to do that again.' I want to kiss the man who makes me figure out why I believe what I do, who perseveres more than anyone I've ever met, who has a bigger vocabulary than most spelling bee winners but hides behind four letter words. I want to kiss you, Jay, a lot."

Jason is having trouble breathing at the raw honesty, even as he knows Dick is the best of them at doling it out. He manages to get enough air to say, "Yeah."

Dick leans in the barest centimeter necessary for their lips to brush. It's not great. Dick has morning breath, and his lips are chapped from all the rest. Despite that, Jason wants to devour him.

Dick mumbles, "Don't take this personally, but I have to pass out again."

Jason smiles, their lips brushing again. "I'm gonna tell everyone it was the power of my kiss."

Dick manages to clumsily pat his arm. "You do that."

*

Days later, Dick is coming out of the bathroom—which, he's never noticed _just_ how far the en suite in these rooms is from the bed—when he spots Damian perched on the edge of the bed. Jason's out helping Alfred meal prep, since Dick has told him it's creepy for him to spend his time watching Dick sleep.

Dick makes it back to the bed, and despite his overwhelming desire to pass out after that monumental trip, he says, "Hey Dami."

Damian has feline-Alfred with him, and is petting the cat rather aggressively. Alfred appears unbothered by this. "Do you think father is upset with me?"

 _What?_ "Uh, why do you think that?"

"I went and got Todd. I—it's not as if I didn't know what he might do, but—"

"Oh, wow, no, Dami. B isn't—no. If he's being even less talkative than usual, it's because some of what happened before you guys got there probably messed him up more than he's willing to admit. But trust me, he does not think you made the wrong call there."

Damian frowns. "Did I?"

Dick desperately wishes he didn't have to be the one to have this conversation. He shakes his head. "No. You needed backup. And nobody knows the Joker better than Jason. Knew. Not even Batman, not really."

"I could have found Kate. Jim Gordon. There were options."

It's Dick's turn to frown, but more out of confusion than anything. "Dami, what aren't you telling me?"

Damian curls up into an even tighter, tenser ball of misery. "I was glad. I _wanted_ Todd to do it."

Dick swallows a sigh, afraid it will be taken the wrong way. "Feelings aren't crimes, little D. It's okay to feel that way. It's—we shouldn't be judge and jury, let alone executioner. That's the point Bruce is trying to make, and it's a good one, a valuable one, one I believe in. That doesn't make me not human. Joker was taunting me and a fear-toxin juiced up Bruce about what he did to a fifteen year old boy, to _Jason_ , and trust me: I wanted him dead, too. Maybe I wouldn't have done it. But I'm not sure I would have stopped Jay. So if you're bad for feeling that way, then I'm bad, too. Bruce will just have to give up on everyone except maybe Tim and Cass. And I have my suspicions about both of them."

For seemingly the first time since coming in the room, Damian breathes a little bit. "You're not bad. Everyone knows that."

Dick doesn't always, but he appreciates the sentiment. He smiles. "Am I roughed up enough to be granted cuddles?"

Damian rolls his eyes. "Only if you don't call them that," he says, but he also moves to gingerly fit himself against Dick. It's a win.

*

Jason disappears the moment Dick's truly up and on his feet, which is annoying, but also so predictable Dick can't bring himself to waste the energy of rolling his eyes. Dick has long since learned that the more invested Jason is in something, the quicker and harder he'll run when faced with the option of actually having it. And in the days where it was clear Dick was starting to be a bit more ambulatory, Jason's attentions toward Dick had pitched back and forth between a quiet clinginess and a type of cold shoulder.

Mildly disappointed, if unsurprised, Dick chases Jason down after a patrol, which isn't easy, both because Dick is still recovering from major surgery, and Jason is a slippery little fuck when he so chooses. Dick manages though. He's got some skills himself. Also, Babs knows most of Jason's safehouses, and is totally in his corner on this one, which means he's able to follow Jason when he goes to ground. Or to his apartment, as it were.

Jason has barely climbed in his window when Dick follows him right in. Jason, who is nothing if not brassy as hell, greets him with an, "Oh, uh. Did you need something?"

"For you to pull your head out of your ass."

"Well, you can ask anyone, that's just wishful thinking."

"Jay, Jesus, it wasn't the drugs, or whatever else you've been telling yourself this whole time. Also, take that fucking hood off."

To Dick's surprise, Jason does, and there's still the domino, but Dick can read him through the domino. The hood presents a challenge. Jason's whole body is tense, coiled, clearly priming for a physical fight. "What happens the next time I do something you Bats don't like? What, then? Because it's not really an 'if' so much as a 'when' and I—"

"We have a fight. A big one. Maybe we throw some dishes. You challenge my worldview, I rage against yours, and then we remember that for all that we disagree over shit, sometimes even fundamental shit, we love each other too much for that to get in the way." Dick pauses. "And then some spectacular makeup sex. Definitely."

The line of Jason's mouth is torn between amusement and exasperation. After a long moment he says, "Lie to me, tell me you won't leave. Won't take the others with you."

Dick shakes his head. "Not gonna lie to you. Not gonna make promises I can't keep. We're in a dangerous business. Our life expectancies are considerably shorter than average. But I swear to you, Jason Peter Todd, on my parents' graves, that so long as I'm breathing, I'm going to stand by you. I told Bruce if he made me choose, I'd choose you, and I meant it. So don't—don't you dare make that out as something less than it is."

Jason swallows, then shakes his head. "No. No, I—I wouldn't."

"And don't…don't walk out. It's not fair. It doesn't give me any way to get you to listen to me."

Jason walks further into the apartment and takes the domino off. He doesn't look at Dick as he says, "Running is safe."

"So's not being a vigilante, but I don't see you heading that direction."

Jason turns slightly, looking at Dick out of the corner of his eye. "Fighting with fists, with knives, guns, that's—that's easy. Fighting with—" he presses his knuckles to his chest, his arm trembling. 

Softly, Dick says, "I love you. It happened when I wasn't paying attention, but I have no interest in taking it back. So, please. Please, I don't want to be alone in this."

Jason shakes his head again, moving toward Dick until they're a breath apart, their foreheads touching. "No. You're not alone. Not alone."

Dick threads their hands together. "We can make the rest up as we go along."


End file.
